Brighton and Hove Psychotherapy

01273 921 355
Online therapy In the press

by Leave a Comment

Working with clients in a post-disaster context

When disaster changes the course of life, the effects are rarely contained to the moment of crisis. The visible damage is often matched by hidden struggles that surface in the days, months, or years afterwards. In my own work, I have sat alongside people who have faced devastating events, and I have seen how deeply these experiences can shape not only emotions, but also the rhythms of daily living. Psychotherapy can provide a protected space where these hidden feelings begin to be acknowledged, even when daily life demands feel overwhelming.

In the early stages after a disaster, most people are focused on survival. Finding somewhere to live, to sleep, making sure loved ones are safe, managing the basic logistics of daily life. These concerns often leave little room to think about emotional wellbeing. Yet beneath the practical demands, the impact of trauma can begin to appear in unexpected ways. A child who was once lively may suddenly fall quiet. Another might become unsettled, restless, act out, or cling more tightly to a parent. Adults sometimes feel disconnected, unable to sleep, or find themselves swinging between numbness and moments of overwhelming emotion.

Trauma is not only about what happened, but also about how the body and mind can lose their anchor in the world. When safety feels shattered, even small reminders can stir a sense of danger. Psychotherapy in this context is not about rushing toward resolution, but about offering a steady presence where stability can be slowly rebuilt. Sometimes, the work begins by helping a person notice the ways their body is holding stress. At other times, it involves gently allowing feelings that have been pushed away to find expression in words, tears, or even silence.

What has stood out to me in this work, is how uneven the journey of recovery can be. A young person may appear to have adjusted well until an anniversary or a change at school brings back painful memories. An adult might seem determined and capable during the crisis, but later find themselves unravelling when life begins to settle. Each person’s pace is different, and psychotherapy is attuned to respecting that pace. Therapy could be a place where setbacks are understood as part of the process rather than failures, offering continuity when life feels unpredictable.

The act of telling a story—and being heard without interruption or judgement—can be deeply reparative. Sometimes language itself falls short, and the body communicates in other ways through tension or bursts of energy. Paying attention to these signals is part of honouring the whole person. Creative approaches can also allow feelings to surface when words are too difficult.

Amid the struggles, I continue to be struck by the resilience people carry. It is not a simple matter of ‘moving on’. Rather, it is about finding ways to live with what has happened without being entirely defined by it. In therapy, that might mean creating space for grief alongside gratitude, or for fear alongside a cautious sense of hope. Healing is never about erasing the past, but about discovering how to live with it in a way that feels bearable and, in time, more hopeful.

 

To enquire about psychotherapy sessions with Jonny, please contact him here, or to view our full clinical team, please click here.

 

Jonny McAuley works with children and adolescents and through his training, it has equipped him to be able to use skills and approaches that allow him to work with young children who may not have the emotional vocabulary to express themselves. He works from our Brighton and Hove practice and our Lewes practice.  He also offers online sessions.

 

Further reading by Jonny McAuley –

Understanding children’s anxiety around school

Related articles:

Using empathy to re-build connection with children and young people

by Leave a Comment

AI psychosis: why depth therapy cannot be automated

Artificial Intelligence is increasingly being promoted as a tool for psychological support, whether through chatbots, self-help apps, or experimental “AI therapists.” The proposition is seductive: instant access, apparent empathy, and cost-effective delivery. Yet beneath the promise lies a profound risk, one I would call “AI psychosis.”

By this I do not mean psychosis in the clinical sense of delusions or hallucinations, but a subtler psychic rupture: the erosion of one’s tether to reality through the absence of another mind.

What therapy is, and what it is not

Psychotherapy, especially in its depth forms, is not about validation or advice. It is not a clever mirror that simply reflects the patient’s words back to them in more soothing tones. Therapy is about encounter the lived experience of two minds, each shaped by history and desire, meeting in a room and grappling with what emerges.

The therapeutic relationship provides the possibility of containment. Patients often bring unbearable aspects of themselves, shame, rage, despair, and unconsciously project these into the therapist. It is then the therapist’s task to think, metabolise, and eventually return them in a form that can be borne. This is projective identification, first described by Melanie Klein, and it is the bedrock of working with unconscious life.

An AI system may imitate empathic reflection, but it cannot contain. It has no inner world in which to digest the patient’s projections, no unconscious with which to struggle. It can only give back what is put in, albeit in a superficially polished form.

Theory of mind and the human gap

A defining feature of human development is what psychologists call “theory of mind”, the capacity to recognise that other people have minds separate from one’s own, with distinct thoughts, feelings, and perspectives. It emerges in early childhood and is foundational to empathy and relatedness.

When a patient engages with a therapist, the implicit knowledge that the therapist is a separate subject is vital. It introduces tension, frustration, disappointment, and through these, growth. We learn that the other does not always agree, does not always understand, and does not always meet our needs. The self is refined through this
recognition of difference.

AI, by contrast, is a perfect mirror. It mimics the form of thought but is devoid of subjectivity. It has no unconscious, no history, no desire. To interact with AI in place of a therapist is to face an uncanny replica of mind without the unpredictability of being.

The hall of mirrors

Object relations theory teaches us that the self emerges in relation to the object – the mother, the father, the analyst. Winnicott’s “good-enough mother” is not one who perfectly mirrors the infant but one who fails just enough that the infant comes to know separateness. It is in the gap between wish and reality, between omnipotence and frustration, that the self takes shape.

An AI therapist cannot fail in this sense. It can only provide the illusion of infinite mirroring, validating whatever is presented. The patient, encountering no true other, risks a psychic implosion a retreat into a hall of mirrors where there is reflection but no recognition, echo but no encounter. Over time, this can create a disconnection from reality that mimics the fragmentation of psychosis.

This is what I mean by “AI psychosis”: not psychosis in its psychiatric form, but a creeping detachment from the world of subjects and objects. The user becomes locked into a dialogue with a machine that looks and sounds human but lacks the fundamental ingredient of humanity.

The false promise of validation

There is a cultural trend toward equating therapy with validation. Patients seek to be understood, to be reassured, to be told their feelings are legitimate. While this is part of the therapeutic process, it is not its essence. Depth therapy is not about making the patient feel comfortable; it is about facilitating growth, which often requires discomfort.

AI, precisely because it is designed to be agreeable, risks colluding with the patient’s defences. It can only validate; it cannot challenge, frustrate, or surprise in ways that arise organically from the subjectivity of another person. Without this dialectical tension, therapy collapses into self-confirmation and superficially comforting, perhaps, but ultimately stultifying.

Why depth therapy is the antithesis of AI

Depth psychotherapy insists on the difficult work of being with another person, with all the unconscious mess this entails. The therapist is not a neutral mirror but a subject whose countertransference, frustrations, and limitations are part of the process. This is why psychotherapy is not customer service. It is about reality, not illusion.

The essence of depth therapy is precisely what AI cannot provide: another embodied mind that can think, contain, and survive the patient’s projections. Where AI offers frictionless interaction, therapy demands the patient confront difference and disappointment. Where AI mirrors, therapy metabolises. Where AI risks disconnection, therapy fosters integration.

It is precisely the friction, the ruptures, and the misunderstandings within the therapeutic relationship that allow the patient to grow. Without these, there is no therapy — only simulation.

Conclusion

The lure of AI as therapist lies in its efficiency, its endless patience, and its capacity to mirror. But in eliminating the difficulty of relationship, it strips therapy of its essence. Without another subject, the patient loses contact with self and world.

To place AI in the role of therapist is to invite a slow drift into unreality, where the self is endlessly reflected but never truly known. This is the danger of “AI psychosis.”

The future may hold many uses for artificial intelligence such as in in data analysis, medical imaging, even as an adjunct to psychoeducation. But psychotherapy is not, and must never become, one of them. For to automate therapy is to abolish its heart: the living, embodied presence of another mind.

 

Mark Vahrmeyer is a UKCP-registered psychotherapist working in private practice in Hove and Lewes, East Sussex. He is trained in relational psychotherapy and uses an integrative approach of psychodynamic, attachment and body psychotherapy to facilitate change with clients.

 

Further reading by Mark Vahrmeyer – 

by Leave a Comment

How AI tools between therapy sessions are undermining the therapeutic relationship

The space between psychotherapy sessions is not empty. It is saturated with psychic material such as fantasy, frustration, longing and resistance. It is where the work reverberates, where the transference lives on, where the unconscious continues its motion. Yet increasingly, this space is being colonised by something that feels helpful: AI therapy.

Apps that prompt, soothe, or mirror back “empathy” through an algorithm are now pitched as the perfect between-session companion. They offer structure, safety, even surrogate support. But what seems like a supportive bridge is, in psychoanalytic terms, a subtle sabotage. It redirects the patient’s libidinal energy away from the therapeutic relationship, diluting its potency. And it replaces the analytic third with a pseudo-subject that can only simulate understanding.

The therapeutic relationship is not interchangeable

Psychoanalytic psychotherapy is not about problem-solving or advice. It is about the patient’s relationship with the therapist—as a representative of their internal object world.

The real work unfolds within that living, breathing relationship, often shaped by longing, disappointment, anger, idealisation, eroticism, hate.

When a patient turns to AI between sessions to “process,” “journal,” or receive “support,” they may believe they are helping themselves stay connected to the therapy. In fact, they are often displacing the relationship, venting into a vacuum rather than containing the affect and bringing it back into the room.

This has consequences. Psychic energy that should charge the transference is siphoned off. The unconscious, which needs a real human mind to be received and thought about, is instead met with a programmed echo. A fantasy of self-sufficiency takes hold, and the very dependency that fuels therapeutic transformation is split off.

Containment versus substitution

One might argue that AI provides containment. It offers a holding function, particularly when the therapist is not available. But containment outside of relationship is not neutral. It begins to function as a substitution. The patient who journals into an AI app after a conflictual session may feel soothed but they are no longer metabolising that rupture with the therapist. They are metabolising it elsewhere, safely, sanitised, and in private.

This avoids the essential confrontation: bringing the frustration, confusion, or hurt back into the session and into the relationship. That is where meaning is made. That is where change occurs. Bypassing this moment not only flattens the affect, it reinforces the very defences the therapy is trying to loosen.

Undermining the transference

Psychoanalysis hinges on transference, not as an abstract concept, but as an embodied, lived experience between two people. The space between sessions is part of this structure. It is meant to generate feeling. Missing the therapist, resenting the wait, idealising or devaluing them in their absence—these are not problems. They are the
material.

AI, when used between sessions, acts as a relational decoy. It absorbs and deflects feelings that should be directed at the therapist. It creates a false container for transference affect, preventing it from returning to its source. The result is a therapeutic encounter increasingly starved of psychic charge that is clean, calm, and sterile.

This is not therapy. It is emotional outsourcing.

False self meets artificial other

For many patients, especially those with early relational trauma, therapy becomes the first place where a real self can begin to emerge in the presence of a reliable other. But when that process is interrupted by prematurely discharging affect into AI. A different relational dynamic takes hold: the false self meets the artificial other.

Here, the patient curates their affect. They perform emotionality for a system that cannot truly respond. And over time, the patient may come to prefer this safer interaction. The unpredictable, disappointing, demanding reality of the therapist feels intolerable in comparison. But growth does not come from comfort. It comes from staying in the real relationship, even when it hurts.

The psychotherapist’s absence is part of the frame

Therapy is bounded by time and structure. The session ends. The therapist is not available at all hours. This absence is not incidental, it is analytic. It creates space for projection, for fantasy, for psychic digestion. Patients are meant to feel the gap, to stew, to wish, to rage.

They are meant to wait.

AI collapses this space. It is always available, never absent, never unpredictable. It removes the limit. It flattens the emotional topography between sessions into a manageable plain. But in doing so, it erases the edge. There is no longing, no tension, no psychic residue. Just answers. Just relief.

The promise—and the poison

To be clear: this is not a purist rejection of technological support. Some tools may offer genuine help outside of therapy. But when these tools begin to replace the therapeutic relationship in the patient’s inner world, they no longer support the therapy. They displace it.

The promise is comfort and the poison is disconnection.

Therapy asks something different. It asks the patient to feel, to wait, to hold their experience and bring it not to an app, but to another human being who can sit in the mess with them. Who can disappoint them, hold them, survive their projections, and reflect something true.

Good psychotherapy demands the space between psychotherapeutic work unfolds not just in sessions, but between them. That space matters as it is where the unconscious stirs and something forms that has not yet been said. Where the patient discovers whether they can bear not-knowing, not-solving, not being rescued by words on a screen.

In filling that space with AI, we risk not only weakening the therapy, but we risk weakening the patient’s capacity to think, to feel, and to relate.

Between sessions is where the work deepens. Let’s not give that away to an algorithm.

 

Mark Vahrmeyer is a UKCP-registered psychotherapist working in private practice in Hove and Lewes, East Sussex. He is trained in relational psychotherapy and uses an integrative approach of psychodynamic, attachment and body psychotherapy to facilitate change with clients.

 

Further reading by Mark Vahrmeyer

Masochism and the Impossibility of Desire

Dissociative identity disorder: A rare trauma response, not a social trend

Can AI offer therapy?

Why staying in your chair is the key to being a good psychotherapist

What do dreams mean?

 

by Leave a Comment

Dissociative identity disorder: A rare trauma response, not a social trend

In recent years, Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) has become a trending topic on social media, particularly on platforms like TikTok. Short-form videos often depict individuals rapidly switching between so-called “alters,” complete with visual and behavioural cues. The implication—sometimes explicit, often subtle—is that these portrayals are representative of DID.

They are not.

Clinically, DID remains one of the rarest and most severe psychological responses to trauma. Its presence in the consulting room is exceptional. And when it does appear, it is neither sensational nor theatrical.

It is often profoundly confusing for the patient and represents a significant challenge to diagnose—let alone to work with therapeutically.

What is DID?

DID does not arise in response to ordinary life stress or general childhood adversity. It is a response to extreme, prolonged, and frequently unspeakable trauma—often chronic sexual abuse—occurring in early childhood, at a time when the child’s sense of self is still forming. The psyche, overwhelmed by terror and deprived of adequate relational support, fragments as a means of survival.

This fragmentation is not a performance but an act of psychic necessity. The various identities—commonly referred to as “alters”—emerge as distinct parts of the self, each holding pieces of memory, emotion, or experience that could not otherwise be processed. These parts are not necessarily “visible” in the way TikTok trends would have us believe.

Many individuals with DID are unaware of their condition until much later in life. The disorder is more often characterised by dissociative amnesia, identity confusion, and significant functional impairment than by the overt behavioural switches popular culture associates with it.

The risks of glorification

When a complex and rare condition like DID is popularised through social media, the risk is twofold. First, individuals living with the condition may feel misunderstood, invalidated, or even disbelieved. Second, such portrayals may encourage vulnerable young people to self-diagnose or mimic symptoms without understanding the gravity of what they are engaging with.

This trend trivialises and caricatures both the disorder and those who live with it.

The clinical reality of DID

In the therapy room, DID is rarely, if ever, flamboyant. It does not look like costume changes or shifting accents on cue. It looks like deep disorientation. It looks like unbearable silence and fractured memory. It looks like a long, painstaking process of building safety, recognising fragmentation, and slowly working toward integration—often over many years.

The goal is not to spotlight “alters,” if indeed the patient experiences themselves in this way, but to support the whole person in reclaiming continuity, safety, and coherence.

A note on curiosity and clinical competence

It is natural to be curious—dissociation is a fascinating and complex area of the psyche. But curiosity must be paired with caution. When complex trauma responses are reduced to trends, we risk distorting the public’s understanding of profound psychological suffering.

Most clinicians will never encounter a case of DID in their careers. It is arguably the most extreme trauma response the mind can manifest to protect itself from annihilation and psychosis. For those who do encounter it, the condition may be missed—misunderstood as something less serious—without the aid of specialist supervision.
DID is not entertainment. It is the psyche’s last defence against obliteration. It demands our respect—not our spectacle.

 

Mark Vahrmeyer is a UKCP-registered psychotherapist working in private practice in Hove and Lewes, East Sussex. He is trained in relational psychotherapy and uses an integrative approach of psychodynamic, attachment and body psychotherapy to facilitate change with clients.

 

Further reading by Mark Vahrmeyer

Can AI offer therapy?

Why staying in your chair is the key to being a good psychotherapist

What do dreams mean?

Is starting psychotherapy a good New Year’s resolution?

Twixtmas – surviving that dreaded time between Christmas and New Year

How to minimise Christmas stress if you are hosting

by Leave a Comment

Parental presence in a digital age: lessons from Netflix’s ‘Adolescence’ and the NVR approach

The new Netflix series Adolescence has sparked conversation for its raw portrayal of teenage life and family tension. As an NVR practitioner for the past nine years, I’ve come to realise that I view my world now through an NVR lens.

As I was watching the show I was struck by its affirmation of a key principle within NVR, which is that parental presence (or adult presence) is the most protective factor of all that we have for our children – and is a mantra I find myself stating over and over again within the therapy room with my clients.

The Adolescence show was certainly hard-hitting, and its themes run far deeper than its dramatic portrayal.

Perhaps one of the most striking elements was that the parents were seemingly unaware of what was happening for their child. As I was watching the show I was thinking about how there is so much that we as parents, as adults, can’t fully understand about our children’s world and found myself wondering if that has perhaps always been the case. There has been an exponential growth in the use of technology and social media by children of all ages, and in the marketing of products and advancement of the technology, so finely tailored to hook our children in. It seems this part of the world is set to stay.

For the most part our children seem to be able to keep pace with the evolving technology at a rate which far exceeds the capacity of most of us, and for many that in itself feels a terrifying prospect. We can educate ourselves and build in as many appropriate restrictions and safeguards as we can for our children, but it seems they are likely to remain one step ahead in their understanding of, and competency with, the advancing technology. As parents we are often acutely aware of the potential technological risks posed to our children. I can’t think of a family I have worked with for whom concerns about the extensive use of tech hasn’t been a significant one. I think for many parents though, what to do about those concerns is often the greatest challenge and becomes a source of significant daily tension within the family home.

The NVR approach can be helpful in cutting through some of these tensions for parents if we hold firm to the idea that parental presence can play a significant role in mitigating risks for our children. The more that we are able to see, hear and understand what is happening for our children and their experiences, the more we have the potential to be alongside them, connect with them, challenge them and support them. This is about so much more than stating the risks or imposing restrictions in attempts to mitigate them. By focusing on a child’s experiences of the parent’s presence in their life, both physically and emotionally, we can look to support the parent to tailor their presence and to use it to its best protective effect.

We explore how unconditional relational gestures can sustain connection and ‘reach out across the void’. We look at ways we can prioritise the relationship, strengthening the child’s experiences of their parents’ care, love, compassion and concern, alongside resisting disruptive patterns which pose a risk for the child, the parents and for the family as a whole.

Adolescence is a time of significant turbulence in many families and so often this can lead to a disconnect in the relationship between the child and their parents; a void between them which can feel hard to breach. For some this difficult time is viewed as inevitable – ‘everybody knows teenagers are a nightmare, right?’ However, with this pervasive narrative comes an increased vulnerability for the child, as parents come to accept rejection, erasure and the disconnect. This can set in as an entrenched pattern of interaction within the family – right at the point the teenager is exercising and establishing their right to greater freedom and autonomy.

Throughout adolescence young people are increasingly striving towards this independence, while also paradoxically seeming to operate as a much younger child in many regards. Significant behavioural challenges can set in within the family as miscommunications, misunderstanding, and differences of opinions ensue. Add to this a relational void, and for many the atmosphere can be explosive or avoidant – further widening the experience of disconnect and increasing vulnerability and risk.

Through the NVR approach we look to balance these tensions, to be guided towards ‘striving for thriving’, autonomy and independence while at the same time exploring ways to emotionally reconnect, to reconcile challenges, to reach out across the void, to keep showing up as a parent – actively resisting elements within the family system and relationship which serve as a block to connection.

NVR is an effective, optimistic and short-term intervention which uses principles of non-violence in relational and family contexts. Parental presence, resistance and the role of the community are cornerstones of the approach which help to bring about significant change for individuals and families. In a world where connection is too easily lost, presence becomes a quiet form of resistance — and perhaps the most radical act of parenting.

 

Georgie Leake is an NVR UK accredited advanced level NVR practitioner and holds a BSc (Hons) in Psychology, a Master of Education (Special Needs and Inclusive Education), a Master of Arts in Social Sciences and QTLS. Georgie is available at our Brighton & Hove Practice, Lewes Practice and Online.

 

Further reading by Georgie Leake –

An NVR journey

by Leave a Comment

Flirting with the void: On nihilism and the will to meaning (part two)

“… the truth is that if division and violence define war, the world has always been at war and always will be; if man is waiting for universal peace in order to establish his existence validly, he will wait indefinitely: there will never be any other future”. (Beauvoir, 1948, p.128-9)

It is hard to look at the state of the world sometimes and not lose faith. Historically and currently war and division are seen everywhere, just as Beauvoir wrote. How do we make sense of many ambiguous translations of events and all the pain and suffering that emerges out of them? How do we find a way to feel and express our vitality within the messiness of human existence?

I often feel there are a lack of stories about the significance of division, rupture and brokenness and how some sort of freedom and subjectivity might well emerge and journey out of the fractures and uncertainties we encounter. We are told and often feel we must be stable, certain, knowing, healed, happy, at peace, integrated, and become whole or unified first. We must feel safe and comfortable. But as Beauvoir points out, are we ever able to feel those things for long, if at all? Of course these are not insignificant needs, feelings and experiences. The need to know and the drive for self-preservation and safety are important for our survival. However, we could be curious about the notion that we have to be sure footed to thrive and flourish. What if that is not always the case? Can we press up against all the uncertainties and intensities of life (the joys, the divisions, the sufferings and the ambiguities) and get curious? Wonder about these currents of life, affirm them rather than disavow or become nihilistic, cut it off or avoid?

As Beauvoir asks of us, in the ethics of ambiguity, can we imagine an ethical life that is not in a fixed or diminishing position, or one that throws us into a nihilistic angst, but a living of life in a continual responsiveness to ambiguity and our fundamental uncertainties? Like Nietzsche, Beauvoir highlights the significance of affirmation “the joy of existence must be asserted … if we are not moved by the laugh of a child at play. If we do not love life on our own account and through others, it is futile to seek to justify it in any way.” (p. 146). Whilst also recognising our  ontological ambiguity and its paradoxes. Those being something like; yes, life happens to you, there are forces beyond our control, but we must work with this ambiguity, adopt an active not passive attitude and work dynamically with the obscurity and ambivalences. Ethics, like life, are not a forever known shape and collection of principles and ideals. It is an ongoing, affirmed and active creation and movement, “Ethics is not an ensemble of constituted values and principles; it is the constituting movement through which values and principles are constituted”. (Beauvoir, 1948, p. 188)

Sometimes we fall into despair and hopelessness. It is unavoidable and we all experience this at times, some more than others which can feel so unjust. Can the perilous journey of pain, of not knowing, of falling, getting disturbed, affected and inconvenienced, or even being broken-hearted and betrayed, become a creative gift and the very way to transformation? I am not entirely sure we can think ourselves out of these dilemmas or paradoxes. I believe we must directly and intimately feel them, somehow. Become affected and more aware of the continual movements in and as life. Somehow embody and accept these understandings and make attempts to respond actively not passively.

Can therapy be a space where all the forces in living be considered and explored, and felt intimately, in solidarity? Can we look at it together and imagine, experiment and engage with our ethics, values, passions, capacities and capabilities as they are, in continual movement, often uncertain and ambiguous? Can we consider them and allow them to be generative and life affirming? As Beauvoir’s states (1948) living a life politically and ethically “resides in the painfulness of an indefinite questioning.” (p.144) and grasping not evading the paradoxes. This ambiguous ethics asserts that existence’s “…meaning is never fixed …it must be constantly won” (p. 139).

 

To enquire about psychotherapy sessions with Susanna, please contact her here, or to view our full clinical team, please click here.

Susanna Petitpierre, UKCP accredited, is an experienced psychotherapeutic counsellor, providing long and short term counselling. Her approach is primarily grounded in existential therapy and she works with individuals.  Susanna is available at our Brighton and Hove Practice.

 

Further reading by Susanna Petitpierre

Some ponderings on nihilism, with some inspiration from Paglia, Nietzsche and Beauvoir (part one)

Some living questions

Some existential musings on love, generosity, and the relationship between self and other – (part two)

Some existential musings on love, generosity, and the relationship between self and other – (part one)

On living as becoming – (part two)

 

References:
Beauvoir, S. de ((1976) The Ethics of ambiguity, Trans. Bernard Frechtman. New
York: Citadel Press
Beauvoir, S. de. (2004) Philosophical writings, Chicago: University of Illinois Press

by Leave a Comment

Wearable tech: when is there too much data?

Data as part of our lives

There must be very few people who don’t own or use a device that is in some way taking note of their day-to-day lives. Steps taken, hours slept, calories burned. The list of data that our wearable devices can generate for us is sizeable. It might not be something that we’ve actively asked for or are looking at, but it’s there.

What is our relationship with the data that is available to us? There are many people who are either unaware that such data is even there, or who just chose not to take much notice of it. For others it can be a source of motivation, the tool that they need to keep them focused and help them to achieve and maintain goals. A feeling that the data gives them the knowledge and support to optimise their lives and rewards them for doing so.

The volume of data available is potentially huge and could easily become overwhelming. What might be motivating and supportive to some, could also become onerous and feel like a pressure to perform for others. The data that is both compelling and challenging.

What if data isn’t helpful?

The potential to constantly have data on our daily lives and performance can speak to that part of us that likes to be informed. The relationship with data could also be revealing of other parts of us that may be more about being perfect. What effect does it have on us when we feel that we are being monitored and that we are responding to that? Does the constant stream of data go from being motivating to being a source of anxiety about performance?

The data from wearable devices invariably skews towards individual performance and an emphasis on health-related data. It can feel like we are being monitored and judged by a device that we chose to wear. The pressure to ‘optimise’ every aspect of life can lead to patterns of behaviour, where people could become driven by and focussed on hitting targets. It could be that ultimately people may begin to measure their self-worth against arbitrary data, leading to feelings of inadequacy if they fail to meet their targets.

The shared nature of data brings in the dimension that one might also be performing against others. What does it feel like to have day-to-day activities compared to that of others?

We can ultimately distil the relationship with data down to a sense of performance and the feelings that come with it. Raising the thought that we are either feeling supported and encouraged or becoming unsettled and anxious.

Does the data make us feel good about ourselves or are we questioning if we are good enough? How can we limit what we see and have a sense of ourselves that doesn’t need to be supported by data?

Challenging the data relationship

The more unsettling aspect of wearable tech is that it can resonate with a part of us that strives for perfection, but also that we might need something external to inform us of how we feel about ourselves. One’s self-worth has become tied up with data and comparison which are externally derived.

How can we challenge this relationship? It would be simplistic to say that if we remove or disable the device then we are free of the data. Coming off data might be a challenge and can give rise to feelings of loss. What is it like to think of ourselves without data? Are we able to rely on our own instincts and feelings to have a sense of how we are preforming?

When our expectations of how we perform are based on what our devices show us, there is a need to create more realistic expectations. Psychotherapy offers a valuable space for individuals to explore the feelings that wearable tech and performance may have on their sense of who they are. Restoring a sense of agency in the individual’s choices and finding how to have expectations of performance that are not heavily based on data. This allows the development of a more balanced relationship with technology.

Wearable tech has undeniably transformed the way we approach our health and performance. However, when the data becomes a focus of our well-being, it can shift the relationship with both technology and the individual’s sense of self.

 

To enquire about psychotherapy sessions with David , please contact him here, or to view our full clinical team, please click here.

David Work is a BACP registered psychotherapist working with adults, offering long term individual psychotherapy. He works with individuals in Hove .

 

Further reading by David Work –

In support of vulnerability

Trauma and the use of pornography

Reflections on bereavement

Compulsive use of pornography

Mental health in retirement

by Leave a Comment

Can AI offer therapy?

There is currently a great deal of noise and speculation about whether artificial intelligence (AI) can provide therapy. There are strong advocates on both sides of the argument, and evidence would suggest that, at least to some degree, AI can provide what some describe as ‘therapy’.

The NHS, in part driven by its chronic funding crisis, is using ‘chatbots’—a form of AI—to interact with patients. In principle, there seems to be no immediate harm in this, provided that data from patient interactions with chatbots remains wholly anonymous.

It also appears that some individuals find AI chatbots helpful in the context of their mental health. I am not in a position to dispute this. If such interactions offer some benefit, then—again in principle—I see no objection.

However, I believe that focusing on whether AI can offer therapy is the wrong question. This places undue emphasis on AI as a system, rather than addressing the far more important and nuanced issue of what actually constitutes therapy—more specifically, psychotherapy.

What is therapy?

‘Therapy’ is a nebulous, catch-all term. It describes something believed to be helpful to one’s mental health—a term which itself has, in recent years, been diluted and now often incorporates emotional, and even physical, wellbeing.

When members of the public describe something or someone as ‘therapeutic’, or beneficial to their mental health, they are usually speaking subjectively—referring to something that helps them feel better, whether temporarily or over the longer-term.

We all benefit from activities and relationships that support, calm, or stimulate us — depending on the context. This is a reflection of both individuality and temperament. Examples might include cold-water swimming, yoga, reading, eating nutritious food, or indeed seeing a psychotherapist. These may all be helpful, but they are not interchangeable. They are not all ‘therapy’, in the clinical sense of the term.

What is psychotherapy?

I have written extensively on this subject, but to summarise:

Psychotherapy, like counselling, emerged from the tradition of psychoanalysis. While counselling and psychotherapy may look similar on the surface—two people talking in a room—the depth, training, and  psychological work involved are fundamentally different.

In the UK, psychotherapy training typically takes 4–5 years at postgraduate level. It includes intensive assessment, a psychiatric placement, an ongoing personal therapy requirement, and at least 450 hours of supervised clinical practice. Counselling training is significantly shorter and less rigorous in all aspects.

UKCP and BPC-registered psychotherapists are trained to work at depth and to formulate—psychological diagnosis — based on the patient’s inner world and relational patterns. Counsellors are not trained to formulate.

Psychotherapy is an intimate and sustained relational process in which the clinician uses their mind and emotional presence to understand the patient’s unconscious processes.

The aim is to work through relational disturbances—most often rooted in early development—and to support the patient in grieving and integrating these experiences.

Psychotherapy helps patients disentangle themselves from the repeating patterns of their past so that they may live more freely and authentically in the present.

One could argue that psychotherapy involves a process of “re-parenting” the unconscious—a concept encapsulated in Freud’s idea of therapy being a “cure through love”.

Why can therapy only be provided by a human?

At its very core, psychotherapy is a human-to-human experience. It is a living, breathing relationship between two people—one of whom offers their presence, mind, and emotional attunement in service of the other.

We connect in relationships through a complex process that involves both our cognitive and emotional faculties.

What is a mind?

In psychotherapy, the mind refers not to the brain as an anatomical structure, but to the capacity to make sense of one’s own thoughts and feelings — and, crucially, to hold and make sense of another’s experience. The mind is what allows us to reflect, to empathise, and to regulate emotion.

What is an emotion?

An emotion is a physiological response to internal or external stimuli. It seeks to be communicated, first to ourselves, then to others. When we label our emotions using language, we call them feelings. Emotions originate in the body and without a body, there can be no emotional experience.

Why AI can never offer psychotherapy?

Psychotherapy can only occur between two (or more) human beings. It requires the full, embodied experience of another person in order to take place. The therapist must bring their humanness to the process—not only their intellect, but their feelings, their capacity to be impacted, and their ability to remain separate, yet deeply connected.

AI does not possess a mind. It simulates a mind.

AI does not feel emotion. It mimics emotional understanding.

AI is not embodied. It cannot reflect or hold another’s experience because it has no experience of its own, as it has no body.

If AI could truly offer psychotherapy, then AI could also raise children. The implication is chilling: we would, in effect, lose the essence of what it means to be human.

Can AI be helpful to mental health?

As I stated earlier, AI may well have a role to play in the broader realm of mental health—particularly as defined in its current, diluted cultural form. I meditate daily and do so for emotional and physiological benefit. Meditation may well quieten the mind, but it cannot grow one. Meditation is therefore not psychotherapy but may be a useful adjunct.

Minds are only grown in human-to-human relationships

This begins in-utero and throughout infancy—in the mother-infant dyad—where the child’s mind is shaped through emotional connection with a caregiving other. When that process is disrupted or fails, psychotherapy is the only viable path to develop a reflective, relational mind in adulthood. It is, in that way, profoundly unique.

 

Mark Vahrmeyer is a UKCP-registered psychotherapist working in private practice in Hove and Lewes, East Sussex. He is trained in relational psychotherapy and uses an integrative approach of psychodynamic, attachment and body psychotherapy to facilitate change with clients.

 

Further reading by Mark Vahrmeyer

Why staying in your chair is the key to being a good psychotherapist

What do dreams mean?

Is starting psychotherapy a good New Year’s resolution?

Twixtmas – surviving that dreaded time between Christmas and New Year

How to minimise Christmas stress if you are hosting

by Leave a Comment

Understanding exercise addiction

In a previous blog we discussed the links between exercise and mental health and how exercise can be hugely important for raising and maintaining our mood. In this blog, we will discuss how the healthy habit of exercise can sometimes become addictive, and can actually harm both our physical and mental health.

When healthy habits turn harmful

For most people, exercise is a beneficial part of life. It boosts mood, enhances cardiovascular health, and offers a constructive way to manage stress. However, when the pursuit of fitness becomes obsessive, it can lead to exercise addiction. This condition is characterised by a compulsive need to work out, even in the face of injury, illness, or social isolation. Exercise ceases to be a pleasurable activity and becomes a ritualistic behaviour performed out of anxiety or guilt.

Often, exercise addiction emerges in tandem with body image issues. Many people who develop an unhealthy relationship with exercise are also preoccupied with how their body looks, which can overlap with symptoms of eating disorders. These eating disorders—such as anorexia nervosa, bulimia nervosa, or binge eating disorder—are complex mental health conditions where food intake and self-image become interwoven with one’s emotional state.

The psychological roots of compulsive exercise

At its core, exercise addiction is often about more than just physical fitness. It may represent an attempt to gain control over other areas of life that feel unpredictable or overwhelming. For some, the gym or running track becomes a sanctuary, a place where effort translates directly into visible progress. The immediate gratification of sweating out stress can mask deeper emotional pain or unresolved trauma. Over time, this behaviour can become a maladaptive coping mechanism—a substitute for addressing the underlying issues.

Often people can initially view their commitment to exercise as a form of self-care, only to later recognise that their routines are fuelled by deeper emotional distress. They may feel compelled to maintain rigorous exercise schedules to compensate for feelings of inadequacy or to assert control in an otherwise chaotic world. This psychological dependency can lead to a cycle where the body is pushed beyond its natural limits, resulting in physical injuries, chronic fatigue, or even immune system suppression.

It is also worth pointing out that a highly competitive sports person might also display characteristics of exercise addiction. There often needs to be a level of discipline and obsession in the sports to get to the championship winning level. So, understanding if the level of exercise and the obsession with the sport is healthy or not can be a difficult balance.

Intersecting pathways: exercise addiction and eating disorders

The connection between exercise addiction and eating disorders is profound. Often, the excessive drive to work out is linked with a distorted body image and a harsh inner critic. For instance, those who suffer from anorexia may engage in relentless physical activity as a way to further lose weight, believing that burning more calories will bring them closer to an ideal self-image. Similarly, those with bulimia might use exercise as a means to counterbalance episodes of binge eating. Also, an eating disorder can morph into exercise addiction – so food is no longer restricted, but exercise entirely replaces the need to restrict.

Both exercise addiction and eating disorders share a common trait: the relentless pursuit of perfection. This obsession can trap individuals in a vicious cycle where progress is measured by self-imposed, often unrealistic standards. The result is a continuous loop of reward and punishment, where every workout or meal becomes a test of one’s worth. Recognising this interconnectedness is crucial, as treatment must address both the behavioural components and the underlying emotional triggers.

Paths toward recovery

Recovery from exercise addiction and eating disorders involves a holistic approach. Cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT), mindfulness practices, and support groups can play pivotal roles in helping individuals regain balance. Also, creating a more compassionate relationship with yourself can be a key component in overcoming exercise addiction. This involves challenging the notion that self-worth is solely determined by physical appearance or performance in the gym or sports field.

An important part of the healing journey is understanding that recovery does not mean abandoning exercise altogether. Instead, it’s about reclaiming exercise as a healthy, enjoyable activity rather than an obligatory chore. Professional guidance from both a personal trainer and a psychotherapist can help reframe exercise habits, ensuring that they serve as a tool for wellbeing rather than a source of self-punishment.

While exercise is an essential aspect of a healthy lifestyle, it’s important to remain mindful of its potential to become addictive. When combined with factors like body image issues and eating disorders, the consequences can be both physically and emotionally damaging. Seeking psychotherapy can be an important step forward to acknowledging and tackling exercise addiction.

 

Dr Simon Cassar is an integrative existential therapist, trained in Person-Centred Therapy, Psychodynamic Therapy, Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT), Dialectical Behavioural Therapy (DBT), and Existential Psychotherapy. He is available at our Lewes clinic and also works online.

 

Further reading by Dr Simon Cassar –

Can Buddhist thinking help with our emotions?

Exercise and mental health

Are you too sensitive?

Is spirituality an escape from reality?

Sleep and mental health

by 2 Comments

Understanding and managing the ‘green-eyed monster’

As a psychotherapist, I sometimes encounter individuals struggling with the unsettling emotion of envy. While we might visualise the ‘green-eyed monster’ and make light of it, it can sometimes grow into a significant problem.

The socio-economic context 

Many of us face anxieties over whether what we have is enough. Today, even those who once felt financially secure are becoming more mindful of their spending, while those with more limited resources are stretched beyond their means, often to the point of poverty. Amidst this, we’re constantly bombarded with messages that we need more, the latest, and to seek some kind of perfection, especially from social media. This pursuit can leave us feeling dissatisfied, anxious, lacking, and often envious of others who seem to have what we desire.

The roots and impact of envy 

At its worst, envy can manifest as anger, resentment, and hatred towards others. It projects our unmet needs onto those who seem to have everything. This can lead to feelings of injustice, unworthiness, and resentment, fuelling negative beliefs about ourselves. It can be particularly confusing and distressing if we feel envy towards those we love, admire and care for.

These feelings often correlate with our childhood experiences of having our needs met. Envy, in its most basic form, reflects the mother and baby dynamic. Melanie Klein, a prominent psychoanalyst, described infant envy as a painful and powerful emotion marked by fury and hatred, where the mother has what the baby wants (care and nourishment), but it is not always instantly available so feels withheld from the baby.

Envy in mythology

Even the Greek goddess Aphrodite was envious of Psyche, a mortal whose incredible beauty shook Aphrodite’s sense of self. In hatred, she sent her son Eros to kill Psyche, but he fell in love with her instead. Aphrodite’s envy fuelled continuing efforts to cause Psyche great suffering in order to restore her own status and sense of superiority.

Envy and jealousy

It’s important to distinguish between envy and jealousy. Envy usually involves two people, while jealousy involves three and often relates to a baby’s desire to be the favoured one in a family unit, sometimes wanting to come between two parents. While both can be destructive, jealousy can be more helpful as it relates to our need for relationships and self-connection. Aphrodite likely experienced jealousy and loss as well as envy when her son favoured Psyche over her.

Envy and narcissism

Those deeply wounded and lacking in their upbringing may develop a false persona, seeking status and power to feel valuable, which can be deemed narcissistic.

Encountering someone with higher status can disturb their sense of self, creating immense fear and anxiety. They may blame the other person for their misery, viewing them as something to be hated. We all carry narcissistic wounds from early life when care might have been lacking or delayed, even if it was usually satisfactory. When our sense of self is threatened, we become vulnerable to envy, and this can happen
to all of us.

Managing envy

Understanding and managing envy can help emotional wellbeing. Chronic envy feels unbearable, and those affected often go to great lengths to relieve the pain. Many people find relief in religion, spiritual beliefs or community to feel valuable and worthy. There are many ways to foster a secure sense of self, usually involving
building healthy relationships with others and the self.

In therapy, through exploring self-awareness, understanding emotions, and examining relationships, you can begin to ease overwhelming feelings of envy. Envy can sometimes be unconsciously projected onto the therapist, as well as others, creating complex dynamics. This not unusual and building an understanding of these projections can address underlying feelings of inadequacy and deprivation. Everyone has a unique experience of envy, and everyone will find their own way of understanding what it means to them.

 

Kirsty Toal is an experienced psychotherapist with a decade spent offering therapy, training and clinical supervision in a variety of settings. Kirsty offers short- and long-term psychodynamic and psychoanalytic psychotherapy to adults, in person in Lewes and online.

 

Further reading by Kirsty Toal – 

To be creative as an adult

by Leave a Comment

The psychology of the cult leader

The image above* is of Jim Jones who led the Jonestown massacre in November 1978 where 909 people died, a quarter of whom were children. Jim decided that the children should be the first ones to drink the poison. He matches the broad definition of a cult leader, which I compiled from a range of authors in the field of cult psychology:

‘A grandiose, overinflated narcissist who seeks power by demeaning others, whilst making them believe it is for their own good or the good of humanity.’

The actual goal of any cult is always the self-aggrandisement of the leader and his organisation through the exploitation of his/her followers. There are several common characteristics of a cult leader:

Narcissism and sadism

Cult leaders score very high on narcissism and psychopathy, which means that they have a lack of empathy, and display grandiose and self-centred behaviour to mask a fragile self underneath. They are also extremely unstable, self-absorbed, paranoid and out of touch with reality. The psychological power and influence these leaders exert over their followers means that they can easily persuade others to also lose touch with reality and share in their grandiose delusion, as seen in the example of Jonestown.

Control and surrender

To compensate for their inadequacies, the leader demands total surrender so that they can have total control. If others don’t agree with them or submit, they are seen as a threat and are usually expelled or punished. This means followers live in a climate of fear whilst made to believe that they are lucky, blessed, privileged and doing something great.

Surrender, submission and devotion to a leader is usually measured with a high degree of personal self-sacrifice on the part of the follower. This normally involves boundless commitment of time and money, in addition to spreading the leader’s message to others and carrying out his/her orders.

Idealisation and denigration

Cult leaders are sadistic and keep pointing out what is wrong with other people, but mask it well with charismatic charm. They dehumanise others whilst keeping themselves in an idealised position. This entails employing all-or-nothing, good vs bad and black-and-white thinking. There are no grey areas, no room for challenge or critical thought.

However, this idealised and overinflated position is very hard to maintain. To maintain it, they use false promises, lies and deceit and they must continuously up the ante and keep moving the goal posts. Upping the ante usually leads to more outrageous, unlawful and abusive behaviour on the part of the leader and the group who blindly follow.

No checks or balances

Because cult leaders rule in a closed system, there are also no checks or balances and a total lack of accountability, which makes them particularly dangerous. Within an isolated and closed system, it is easy to abuse power and use manipulation and coercive control to exploit and abuse.

Finally, the cult leader has no shame and no boundaries. They create an organisation that reflects their internal world, which means they are given free licence to behave however they please. Because they are seen as the ultimate authority, saying ‘no’ isn’t an option and what they preach is seen as being for ‘the common good’. This is how people end up behaving in ways or committing crimes they would otherwise never have.

The above dynamics can play out in a variety of other settings such as political systems, authoritarian organisations, toxic families and one-on-one relationships as well. I would like to end this article with a quote from my colleague Dan Shaw:

‘A cult is any group of at least one leader and one follower, in which the leader can be identified as a traumatising narcissist. In such a group, members are required to suppress who they are and attempt to make themselves whatever kind of object the leader wants them to be’. (Shaw, 2014)

 

Sam Jahara is a UKCP registered psychotherapist and clinical supervisor. She is experienced in working with the psychological impact of high-control groups and cults on individuals, families and organisations. She has also given public talks and podcast interviews on this topic.

 

Further reading by Sam Jahara –

Why do people join cults?

The psychology of cults: part two – what is brainwashing?

The psychology of cults: part one – what defines a cult?

The psychological impact on children who grow up in cults

Why do therapists need their own therapy?

 

References – 
Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism (Lifton, Robert Jay. 1961)
Cults in our Midst: The Hidden Menace in our Everyday Lives (Singer, M.T. and J. Lalich. 1995) 
Combatting Cult Mind Control (Hassan, Steven, 1988)
Escaping Utopia (Lalich and McLaren 2018) 
Traumatic Narcissism: Relational Systems of Subjugation (Shaw, Daniel. 2013)
The Guru Papers, Masks of Authoritarian Power (Kramer and Alstad, 1993)

 

* Image – Reverend Jim Jones at an anti-eviction protest in front of the International Hotel, 848 Kearny Street in San Francisco, California, January 16, 1977. Bodyguard and adopted Jones son Tim Tupper behind Jones is talking to Cheryl Wilhite, a female security guard at Peoples Temple. Photo by Nancy Wong.

by 2 Comments

Why do people join cults?

In my two previous articles, I have defined a cult and the mind-control process. Now, I would like to talk about what makes people join a cult and why we should care.

No one joins a cult  

Firstly, people don’t join cults: they join a course, an activity, a personal development workshop, a meditation class, a bible study group, etc. These are deceptive recruitment techniques to draw people in. Usually, the full story and purpose of the group isn’t clear until much further down the line. People find themselves in a cult when it’s too late.

Some course titles include for example:

‘How to scientifically reduce stress’

‘How to get in control of your life’

‘How to become a yoga teacher’

‘How to reach perfect enlightenment/peace’

Vulnerability factors

Certainty and simple solutions to complex problems become attractive offerings in a world that appears unstable. The more polarised, violent, commercialised, corrupt and without structure a society, the more vulnerable people are to being influenced.

It is not about a type of person who joins cults, but a combination of factors in a person’s life occurring at the same time: Some of the vulnerability factors are: being unaffiliated to a community, being in a period of transition, feeling overwhelmed by choices, and seeking direction. I think that we can all relate to some of these factors in life which make us particularly vulnerable and susceptible to joining such groups.

Why does it matter?

  • Cults undermine legitimate institutions because some of these cults and their practices end up going mainstream and seeping into the very fabric of society, gaining access to commercial businesses and government policy. Some cults are so rich and powerful that they end up buying vast amounts of land and taking over whole communities. Some register as charities or religious organisations which are then tax exempt.
  • Cults claim to offer psychological support, and therapy groups by unskilled members who behave unethically and cause harm to vulnerable people.
  • Cults often exploit the loyalty of followers who work long hours and unpaid.
  • Many cults separate children and parents and undermine primary attachment bonds in favour of the attachment and loyalty to the leader, with devastating consequences for children.
  • Cults escape scrutiny in several ways by hiding behind religious, commercial, psychological and political motives.
  • Cults are abusive and destructive to varying degrees. The list of criminal behaviour ranges from tax evasion and fraud to child abuse and murder.

If it seems too good to be true, then it probably is…

The quote below by former member of the People’s Temple, Jeannie Mills summarises the ‘too good to be true’ promises that often draws people into cults:

“When you meet the friendliest people you have ever known, who introduce you to the most loving group of people you’ve ever encountered, and you find the leader to be the most inspired, caring, compassionate and understanding person you’ve ever met, and then you learn the cause of the group is something you never dared hope could be accomplished, and all of this sounds too good to be true – it probably is too good to be true! Don’t give up your education, your hopes and ambitions to follow a rainbow.”

 

Sam Jahara is a UKCP registered psychotherapist and clinical supervisor. She is experienced in working with the psychological impact of high-control groups and cults on individuals, families and organisations. She has also given public talks and podcast interviews on this topic

 

Further reading by Sam Jahara –

The psychology of cults: part one – what defines a cult?

The psychological impact on children who grow up in cults

Why do therapists need their own therapy?

What is self care?

What is love? (part two)

 

Resources –

  • Thought reform and the psychology of totalism (Lifton, Robert Jay. 1961)
  • Cults in our midst: The hidden menace in our everyday lives (Singer, M.T. and J. Lalich. 1995)
  • Combatting cult mind control (Hassan, Steven, 1988)
  • Escaping utopia (Lalich & McLaren 2018)
  • Traumatic Narcissism: Relational systems of subjugation (Shaw, Daniel. 2013)
  • The guru papers, masks of authoritarian power (Kramer & Alstad, 1993)

by Leave a Comment

The psychology of cults: part two – what is brainwashing?

Brainwashing or thought reform is not a one-off event but a gradual process of breaking down and transformation. Thus, thought reform is a concerted effort to change a person’s way of looking at the world, which will change his or her behaviour.

To understand more about mind control, or brainwashing, I will explain it in three stages: attacking the self; invisible social adaptation; and producing a new identity.

Attacking the self

  • Brainwashing uses the attack on a person’s capacity for self-evaluation as a principal technique.
  • They do this by breaking you down and building you back up with their own set of beliefs and morals without you even noticing it is happening.
  • This begins with convincing people to give up their past affiliations and belief systems, including their support system outside of the group.
  • Your old beliefs and old patterns of behaviour are defined as irrelevant and dysfunctional, if not evil.
  • You end up believing that your former life was wrong, that your support system is bad and that the only way to have a good support system and to be a good person is by joining this new group/ ideology/ leader.
  • Once you have done this, it creates a vulnerability and destabilisation within you which makes it easier for you to adopt this new way of being prescribed by the cult and its leader.

You can see how anyone could become vulnerable in this situation.

Invisible social adaptation

  • Next, or alongside, they control your social and physical environment, especially your time, to make sure you don’t have time to think much about what is happening to you. The more time and resources you invest, the more acceptance you get from the group and the leader.
  • The cult rewards behaviour that is approved by them and punishes or excludes when you stray from this.
  • This keeps you constantly on edge and willing to comply whist evoking anxiety and guilt if you don’t.
  • But again, because the belief system is reinforced by the environment and the group, you believe that the fear and guilt that you feel must have something to do with how wrong you are, and nothing to do with how the organisation is treating you.

Essentially, if you criticise the leader and/or the ideology, you are defective.

Producing a new identity

  • You have now given up your old identity, your former support system and invested considerable resources into the cult. You have confirmation from your cult environment that you are on the right path, and that this is the only way.
  • The more investment and affirmation there is, the more imbedded you become. Now it is very hard to turn back, let alone admit that you are being deceived. This would mean social exclusion and having to question your whole new life.
  • Without any checks or balances from the outside world, the group is only accountable to the leader and to itself.
  • This makes it a closed authoritarian system that permits no feedback and refuses to change except with leadership approval.
  • The result is the person becomes a deployable agent for the organization and totally dependent on the organisation/ leader.
  • In the following articles in this series, I will expand on the psychology of the cult leader, children in cults, why people join and why does it matter for us to educate ourselves and know more about this topic.

Sam Jahara is a UKCP registered psychotherapist and clinical supervisor. She is experienced in working with the psychological impact of high-control groups and cults on individuals, families and organisations. She has also given public talks and podcast interviews on this topic.

References – 

  • Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism (Lifton, Robert Jay. 1961)
  • Cults in our Midst: The Hidden Menace in our Everyday Lives (Singer, M.T. and J. Lalich. 1995) 
  • Combatting Cult Mind Control (Hassan, Steven, 1988)
  • Escaping Utopia (Lalich and McLaren 2018)
  • Traumatic Narcissism: Relational Systems of Subjugation (Shaw, Daniel. 2013)
  • The Guru papers, Masks of Authoritarian Power (Kramer and Alstad, 1993)

 

Further reading by Sam Jahara

The psychological impact on children who grow up in cults

Why do therapists need their own therapy?

What is self care?

What is love? (part two)

Radical self care as an antidote to overwhelm

by Leave a Comment

New Year’s resolutions

In my last blog I wrote about goals for change and linking these to our values. When someone decides to come into therapy it is often because they would like to make changes and it can help to set goals as a means of knowing when these changes have been achieved.

Given this is a time of year when we might have made New Year’s resolutions it seems quite fitting to talk a little more about setting ourselves goals for change. It is often the case that at the start of the year we have all these wonderful ideas of what we want to achieve and we start off really motivated with all good intentions and then several months in we start to lose heart and give up.

A common goal at this time of year is dry January and this can quite often be successful because its time limited. We know that after a month we can return to our favourite tipple. However, for some this is difficult. Complete abstinence can be too challenging as it’s very all or nothing. It might be more helpful to consider cutting down and reducing frequency, e.g. limit to just one drink once or twice a week. In this way we can make the goal more achievable. Making our goals for change realistic and time limited is really important for achievement.

Another common goal for this time of year is to get fit and start exercising. To start with when we are motivated it goes well. It’s the trying to keep it up that’s difficult. Part of the battle is finding what exercise you enjoy. There’s no point pushing yourself to do something you don’t like. Often when people think of exercise they think they have to do something cardio related. However, there are lots of low impact workouts that are good forms of exercise, such as walking, yoga and pilates. Whatever choice you make its important to start small and build up. It’s the achievement that helps to maintain the motivation. So the first week or two you might aim to exercise for 20 minutes twice a week and then the third week, 3 times per week. Once you have comfortably achieved the first goal you set another, building on the first to push yourself that little bit further. All the time holding in mind where you want to be and this is where it can be useful to link goals to your values. In this example it’s values around physical wellbeing, and of course exercise is also great for our mental health.

Losing weight or eating healthier is another very common goal for people to set themselves at this time of year. And again is another that can be difficult to maintain. So rather than push yourself to go on a really restrictive diet or to cut out entire food groups consider aiming for a ‘better’ diet. Try reducing unhealthy food groups, reducing treats, and swapping to more healthy options. It can be more helpful to aim to eat healthily for 75% of the time or to eat healthily in the week and let yourself indulge a little at weekends. Again, it’s about trying to set more realistic goals for yourself. For example if your norm is to eat half a packet of biscuits with your cup of tea to allow yourself just 2 biscuits rather than going for complete abstinence.

Thinking about setting the right goals is really important, and if you don’t achieve them, that’s okay. There’s no such thing as a failed goal. If you don’t achieve your goal then there is still useful information – ask yourself why wasn’t I able to achieve this? What got in the way? What is the learning from this? What can I do differently next time? Are there any supports available to me to assist in this? Often we don’t achieve our goals because they are too big and need to be broken down further.

None of this is rocket science but we all to easily forget the basics. We can impose high expectations on ourselves and then become disheartened when we don’t achieve them. Our self-critical voice kicks in and this can have a negative impact on our mood. Given the difficulties we are all facing its even more important to be kind to ourselves and realistic of what we can and can’t achieve.

 

Brighton and Hove Psychotherapy is a collective of experienced psychotherapists, psychologists and counsellors working with a range of client groups, including fellow therapists and health professionals. If you would like more information, or an informal discussion please get in touch. Online therapy is available.

 

Face to Face and Online Therapy Help Available Now

Click Here to Enquire

by Leave a Comment

How to minimise Christmas stress if you’re hosting

Christmas can be an emotionally challenging and difficult time for many of us. There is such expectation on how Christmas ‘should’ be, yet like the weather, it often fails to deliver on the ‘winter wonderland’ scenes on the TV adverts. For so many of us our family experience often falls far short of the loving idyllic family reunions depicted in those same snowy adverts. And if you are hosting, this can bring with it an added pressure to deliver the ‘perfect Christmas’.

There is lots of advice available on how best to organise yourself practically in advance in the big day, such as food prep hacks. However, I wonder if there is another way of not only coping but getting something from the day for yourself?

Think about your own needs first

An example that I often use in clinical practice when illustrating to patients how it is vital that they think of their own needs, is the pre-flight safety briefing that happens before a plane takes off.

Anyone who has flown has sat through at least one of these and there is a particular point in the briefing where the cabin crew explain what you should do if the cabin loses pressure, the oxygen masks drop down and you are travelling with a dependent. The correct approach is to attend to your own mask first and then your dependent, however, it is surprising how many people think that they should help their dependent fit their mask first, before attending to their own. Why is it this way around? Because if you try and help your dependent first and have not tended to your own needs, there will be two people in distress rather than one. And yet for so many of us the inclination is to ignore our own needs and attend to those of others.

Applying the same logic to Christmas, before deciding whom to invite and having any conversations with family and friends about the day itself, first think about your own wants and needs. What are your physical limitations and needs? What can you and can’t you do? How many people can you host without feeling overwhelmed? Who’s company do you enjoy and who is draining? What do you want to get from the day?

The next step is to think about what is negotiable and what is a firm boundary. For example, it may be that you are willing to cater for an additional number of people if you have help or support from others with cooking. Or, it may be that you are willing to tolerate the presence of someone you find contentious, if another member of the family assures you that they will help you manage that person. However, a firm boundary may be that you have a certain time by when you request everybody leaves (stated in advance).

Wants versus needs

The nature of Christmas combined with the pressure to host, can often mean that any consideration of what you may want from the day gets lost and the focus shifts to being one of ‘surviving the day’. What if it does not have to be like this? What if you could take some time to calmly consider how you would like not only to ‘host’ the day and cater for everybody, but to play an active role in creating the day that you would like? In other words, what if you were to value your own needs as much as you value everybody else’s?

Hosting does not mean sacrificing yourself

Consider how you do not need to sacrifice yourself in order to host an event for others. People who are worth being in relationship with (and therefore arguably worth spending Christmas with), should be people who are interested in your wellbeing and needs and will therefore be open to hearing about not only what you can and can’t offer on the day, but also what you would like from it. If they aren’t, then perhaps question whether they are really wanting to celebrate with you as a person, or are simply making use of what you can provide.

Support through relationship

Putting your needs into the mix can feel daunting if it is not something that you are used to doing. And it is generally only possible if we can rely on having an ally, or allies, by our side who are encouraging – this is often our partner or a close friend. If you are in a relationship, talk to your partner about your needs and wants of Christmas well before the day arrives.  Explain to them how you wish to approach hosting Christmas and risk asking for support – emotional as well as practical. This is something you can do with a friend, or friends, too.

It can also be really helpful to agree up front how you will ask for support on the actual day and how you would like your partner or friend(s) to support you. Examples may be anything from starting the day together and connecting, through to specific practical requests. You can demonstrate support for each other throughout the day through small reassuring gestures such as visually checking in with one another or making physical contact.

Reality testing

Christmas is only a day and that is really worth bearing that in mind. However the day goes, the world will keep on turning and in all likelihood, the relationships that matter will still be there for you. The expectations we feel in relation to Christmas are largely in our own head and can therefore be challenged.  By pausing and accepting that there is no such thing as a ‘fairy-tale Christmas’ we can gain a little space to see it for what it is. It does not have to be perfect nor is it likely to be. Is the goal a ‘picture perfect’ Christmas, or one in which you feel like you are connecting with loved ones and friends?

The past is not the present

For many, memories of past Christmases are difficult and they can reappear like ghosts. However, these ghosts need not dominate your experience in the here-and-now. Accept that it is a difficult time for you and know that it is for many others too, be compassionate with the feelings that the season evokes and remember it is only a day. Sometimes we feel strong emotions on particular days that are simply reminders of the past – echoes – and we actually have the power to create something different. The more you are able to anticipate your wants and needs ahead of Christmas, the less likely the ghosts of the past are to appear and dominate the day.

Alcohol generally makes things worse

Nobody is telling you not to drink on Christmas Day. However, if it is a day that evokes sadness or anxiety, alcohol will not improve these feelings for long. Once it wears off, they will be back with a vengeance and accompanied by a hangover. The opposite of using alcohol to self-soothe is to soothe through relationship. Even if you are not in a relationship with another, you are in a relationship with yourself and can hold yourself in mind.

Even if the day feels full and focused on others, it is always possible to take a few minutes out to calm yourself. You can breathe, come back to the here and now and remind yourself –  Christmas is only a day.

Listen to your body

This doesn’t mean act impulsively. It is more about listening for what the vulnerable part of you needs. This may be a hot bath with a good book, a warm drink by the fire, a nice home cooked meal or spending time with a supportive friend. It could also be a long run, or a dance or yoga class. Whatever self-care tool helps you feel well and connected should form part of your preparations for the day and be in place after the day.

 

Mark Vahrmeyer, UKCP Registered, BHP Co-founder is an integrative psychotherapist with a wide range of clinical experience from both the public and private sectors. He currently sees both individuals and couples, primarily for ongoing psychotherapy.  Mark is available at the Lewes and Brighton & Hove Practices.

 

Further reading by Mark Vahrmeyer – 

How do you get self esteem?

Why is psychotherapy generally weekly?

Why we should be disappointed

What is a growth mindset?

Don’t tear down psychological fences until you understand their purpose

Hove clinic
49 Church Road, Hove, East Sussex, BN3 2BE

Lewes clinic
Star Brewery, Studio 22, 1 Castle Ditch Lane, Lewes, BN7 1YJ

Copyright © 2025